


Future looks good

by Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Domestic Sterek is my kink, Kidnapped Derek Hale, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, always happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: Stiles can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Look at you. Mr Alpha, using his words, keeping the pack informed. Very responsible.”Derek doesn’t say anything, but his amused huff says it all.“Can’t you just text me after?” Stiles asks, stepping out of the staffroom and into the hall. “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork I need to finish before next week.”“I need you here, Stiles.”Stiles feels his stomach swoop and warmth radiates through his chest.“You’re my emissary.”And just like that the warmth is gone. His chest cracks open and ice spreads through Stiles’ veins.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 31
Kudos: 612





	Future looks good

**_Sourwolf [12:31pm]:_ ** _Pack meeting tonight._

Stiles groans at the missed message and unlocks the screen with the press of his thumb. He’s got a few minutes before he needs to head back to class, so he swipes his finger across Derek’s name and waits for the call to connect.

“Who have you pissed off this time?” he asks before Derek can get a word in.

 _“Why would you immediately assume that was what happened?”_ Derek’s voice is warm, and Stiles can almost see the good-humoured eyeroll.

“Because,” Stiles says, glancing up at the clock, “I can think of no other reason for you to suggest a pack meeting during the _one_ week I’m going to be swamped with grading.” He cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder and gathers up the rest of his things. “And you know better than to organise a movie night that I can’t come to. So, what did you do?”

_“Chris says a few hunters have asked to visit. They want to meet.”_

“Uh, why?”

Out in the corridor, the bell rings, its raucous tone signifying the end of the lunch break.

_“Apparently they want to know more about the truce we’ve got with Argent.”_

“Okay?”

_“I want to talk it over with the rest of the pack before I make any decisions.”_

Stiles can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Look at you. Mr Alpha, using his words, keeping the pack informed. Very responsible.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but his amused huff says it all.

“Can’t you just text me after?” Stiles asks, stepping out of the staffroom and into the hall. “I’ve got a mountain of paperwork I need to finish before next week.”

_“I need you here, Stiles.”_

Stiles feels his stomach swoop and warmth radiates through his chest.

_“You’re my emissary.”_

And just like that the warmth is gone. His chest cracks open and ice spreads through Stiles’ veins. He plasters on a smile for the kids passing him into the classroom.

“What time?”

_“Scott and Erica are both off work around seven pm, so I told everyone to be here by eight.”_

With a resigned sigh, Stiles adjusts his grip on his books. “I suppose I can mark from your place. You owe me Der.”

_“I’ll cook dinner.”_

“Fiiiiine.” Stiles let’s just enough reluctance bleed into his tone to hide the fact he’s looking forward to it. “I’ll come by as soon as I get off work.” He disconnects the call, shoving his phone into his pocket and pushing through into the classroom.

“Alrighty then.” He drops his books onto the desk at the front of the room. “Where’d we get up to yesterday?”

***

By the time Stiles gets to his Jeep, it’s almost five pm.

As he fits the key to the ignition, he looks longingly out his windscreen at the bright summer evening. This is his favourite time of the year, when the sun doesn’t set until after nine pm.

Stiles glances across the bench seat at the mountain of essays he needs to finish grading. Too bad he won’t get to enjoy it.

Next time he’ll be more organised and start marking earlier. Stiles snorts and starts the engine. Yeah, right. Like that will ever happen.

He pulls out of the parking lot to make the twenty-minute drive across town to Derek’s loft. In the five years since Stiles graduated high school, Derek has turned it into a somewhat decent apartment.

It’s not flash by any stretch of the imagination, but it has walls. Stiles is quite fond of the walls.

In his senior year of college, Derek had finally torn down the burnt out ruins of the Hale house, but so far none of the pack have managed to come to an agreement on what the new house should look like.

Stiles is just waiting for Derek to lose his patience and just go rebuild it himself, the rest of the pack be damned. It would probably be for the best. Despite how close they’ve all become, there are just some arguments that can’t be won. 

“Hey,” Stiles calls out into the empty space once the lift shudders to a halt.

“Hey.” Derek comes out to meet him. “Here.” He takes the armload of papers and carries them over to the large table set beside the (now) fully functional kitchen.

Stiles spreads his things out across the table. “How long until dinner?” he asks. “I’m starving.”

“Not long.”

Derek hovers nearby while Stiles picks up the first of the essays. He makes it to the second paragraph before Derek’s hovering drives him to distraction.

“Derek, sit.” He grins at his little joke and Derek scowls. He doesn’t sit, but he does return to the kitchen and well, out of sight, out of mind. Stiles can work with that.

He gets halfway through the first page before he gets distracted again. He can hear Derek pacing in the next room, so he sets down his marking and wanders into the kitchen to investigate.

“Alright, spit it out big guy.” Stiles hops up onto the counter, legs swinging, and waits.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Derek says, folding his arms over his chest.

“Dinner?” Stiles asks, being purposefully obtuse. “Because I think it’s a great idea.” He grins at Derek’s exasperated headshake. “Look, the meeting tonight was your idea,” Stiles reminds him. “You’re the one who wanted to discuss the hunters with the pack. You could have just shot Chris down and let that be the end of it.”

“You the one who used to tell me I don’t share enough.” Derek points out. “It’s why things were so difficult at the start.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t know what you were doing half the time and you refused to ask for help,” Stiles says. “You were a shitty Alpha, but you’re not anymore. You’ve mostly got things figured out these days and if you’re not sure you ask for advice. We trust you to make the right decisions for the pack.”

“What do you think?”

“About the hunters?” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea. We could use more people like Chris. Hunters with a code who will help against the actual monsters that want to kill, while leaving the innocent alone. If he trusts these people, it might be worth a shot.”

“I don’t know.” The timer on the stove goes off and Derek nudges Stiles out of the way to retrieve two plates.

“He’s coming tonight?” Stiles hops down from the counter to collect cutlery and glasses. Derek nods. “Then we’ll hear what he has to say.”

They push Stiles’ marking aside to make room at the table.

Isaac arrives while they’re still eating. He glances longingly at the lasagna and Stiles sighs. “You know where the plate are,” he says, shoving away more essays to make room for the beta to eat with them.

Once they’ve finished eating, the rest of the pack start to arrive. Stiles keeps furiously marking until Chris turns up, then moves to the living room to perch on the arm of the lounge beside Derek.

“So, lay it on us,” he says, swinging his leg against the side of the chair. “What do these hunters want?”

“They’ve been asking around about how we work together,” Chris explains. “Word has got around about the pack and how you work with the local law enforcement and myself whenever a threat shows up. You’ve generated a lot of interest.”

“Yeah, well it helps to have an in with the sheriff’s department,” Stiles says with a smirk. “So what? They won’t take your word for it or something?”

“Something like that,” Chris nods, turning to face the rest of the pack. “There’s a lot of misinformation out there. You’ve seen the Argent bestiary, there’s a lot of scaremongering, a lot of downright lies. It makes sense that these guys want to meet you and see for themselves what it’s like to work with a pack.”

“Do you trust them?” Lydia asks.

“I’ve worked with all of them before.” Chris says. “They’re good men. I’d trust them to watch my back on a hunt.”

Stiles catches Derek’s eye, raising his eyebrow infinitesimally. Derek nods back—it’s not much more than the slight lift of his jaw, but Stiles catches it.

“So, if we were to do this, what would it involve?” Stiles asks, turning back to Chris. “They’ll be staying with you?”

“It’s custom that I open my home to them.”

“Yeah, but we’d want a neutral place to meet right?” Isaac asks, looking to Derek.

Derek nods. “We could rent out the conference room at the motel downtown. We know it well and we can scope it out beforehand. How many hunters are there?”

“Four.”

“So, we’ll also take four.”

Chris hesitates, just slightly, then says, “They want to come down this weekend.”

“No, that’s too soon,” Stiles shakes his head vetoing that idea immediately. “It’ll need to be next weekend at the earliest.”

“They’re insisting—”

“I don’t care,” Stiles tells him. “This weekend doesn’t give us enough time to plan. Wherever we end up holding this thing, we need time to check the place out and set up wards in case your buddies aren’t as friendly as you think they are.”

Chris frowns, but Stiles waves it off.

“Besides, most of us have day jobs. We can’t just go running off whenever we feel like it.”

“We’re doing these hunters a favour,” Derek reminds Chris. “Not the other way round. If they want to meet, we’ll meet on our terms.”

“I understand.” Chris stands and collects his things. “I think you should do this, but I’ll respect whatever you decide and pass it on.”

Isaac walks him to the lift while the rest of the pack debate on what they should do.

“I think we should meet them,” Scott says, making room for Isaac when he returns.

“Of course you do,” Erica teases, stretching her feet out into Boyd’s lap.

“Well, what do _you_ think?” Stiles asks her. He leans back against his perch, using Derek’s shoulder to keep himself from toppling off the couch.

“I think that Chris didn’t answer the question,” she says. “He might trust them to kill a monster, but that means shit if they think _we’re_ the monsters.”

“What do you think Boyd?” Derek asks. He leans into Stiles’ touch, their points of contact burning into Stiles’ skin.

“With Stiles’ wards we’re safe enough,” Boyd reminds them all. “If they try anything, we’ll show them why no one messes with Beacon Hills and the Hale pack.”

“I agree,” Lydia chimes in. “I don’t trust them, but I think we could take them if they prove me right. And, if I’m wrong, it would be useful to have more allies within the hunter community.”

“So, we’re doing this?” Derek looks around the room at the nodding heads. “Okay, I’ll let Chris know.”

“Great.” Stiles stands to return to his marking while the pack debate how to spend the rest of the night. “No, no movies,” he calls from the kitchen table. “If I am not allowed to watch movies, none of you are allowed to watch movies.”

By the time Stiles finishes his grading, everyone has gone. Isaac has disappeared to his room in the back of the loft, but Stiles can hear Derek still puttering around somewhere on the lower level.

“It’s late, you want to crash?” Derek asks.

Stiles grinds his palms against his eyes. “I’ve got an early start so I should probably head home.” He stands and gathers all his things. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? We can hang out on Saturday and start putting together a plan. I don’t think Chris would intentionally set us up, but that doesn’t mean I trust these hunters either.”

“If you’re sure.” Derek walks with him to the lift. “Goodnight Stiles. Drive safe.”

“Night Der.”

***

The next day Stiles drives back over to Derek’s after work so they can go over their plans for the weekend. He sits in his favourite spot on the kitchen counter and watches Derek cook.

“We should head over to the motel tomorrow,” he says, knocking his heels into the cupboard doors below. “I want to see if my old wards are still up before these hunters arrive.”

Derek nods, moving to turn off the hotplate.

“We should go over the wards on all the roads into Beacon Hills, too,” he suggests. “It’s been a while since they were reinforced.”

Stiles groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Ugh, I know you’re right, but that’s like, the whole day gone.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Derek teases, handing over a bowl. “Especially if you’re going to keep insisting on a werewolf sized portion every time.” He nods towards the bowl Stiles clutches protectively to his chest.

“Yeah, well maybe if you didn’t cook so damn good, I wouldn’t have to eat so much of it,” Stiles says, hopping down from the counter.

They wander out of the kitchen to eat in front of the TV.

Stiles sprawls out on the couch with his bowl sitting on his chest and his feet digging into Derek’s thigh.

“Is Isaac over at Scott’s?”

Derek rumbles the affirmative.

“I dunno why he doesn’t just move in,” Stiles says. “He’s over there more than he’s at home.”

“Could say the same about you,” Derek smirks, poking Stiles in the shin with his fork.

“Ouch. Hey, that’s different,” Stiles protests, nudging Derek with his foot. “You keep feeding me, of course I’m going to keep coming back. Besides, I can’t afford to move out of home. Do you know how much they pay a first year teacher?”

“Not enough?”

“Not enough,” Stiles groans.

At some point during the second movie, Stiles must drift off. When he wakes the room is dark, lit only by the credits rolling down the TV screen.

“Wha’ time izzit?” he mumbles.

“Late.” Derek has his feet up on the coffee table. He has one hand on Stiles’ bare ankle, the other is pillowed behind his head.

“Ugh.” Stiles smooshes his face into the cushion. “I’mma stay here.”

“C’mon.” Derek pushes Stiles’ feet out of his lap and stands. “You’ll wake up with a crick neck if you sleep like that.” He grabs Stiles hands and drags him to his feet, directing him towards the stairs.

“But I was so comfy,” Stiles whines.

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Derek’s alarm wakes him a few hours later.

“Oh my god, it’s _Saturday_ ,” he groans, burying his head under the pillow. “Why do you have an alarm set?” He feels the soft rumble of Derek’s laugh and the shift of the bed as Derek reaches to shut the phone off.

“We’ve got a lot to do.”

“Nothing that needs to happen before the sunrise,” Stiles grumbles. “Wake me then.”

The bed shifts again as Derek gets up, followed by the soft pad of bare feet against the hardwood floors.

Stiles immediately rolls over into the warm spot Derek left and drifts back to sleep.

He wakes up later to the roller door slamming open. The sun is streaming in through the window, so Stiles forces himself up and out of bed.

“You’re back late,” he says, spotting Isaac from the top of the stairs. “You have a fun night?”

Isaac looks up from his position, sprawled across the couch.

“Better night than you had,” Isaac says, head tilted in a way Stiles recognises as scenting.

“Yeah, rub it in,” Stiles tells him. He doesn’t need Isaac reminding him that he hasn’t gotten laid in _ages._

Following the scent of freshly brewed coffee Stiles finds Derek in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, nursing a cup. He swoops in, making grubby hands for it, but Derek ducks out of the way.

“Get your own.”

“Where's the love?” Stiles whines, reaching up into the cupboard for a mug.

“So, I’m going to head home,” Stiles says, pausing between sips of his coffee. “I need a shower and a change of clothes. You want to meet up at the motel in an hour?”

“Sure.” Derek brushes past him to put his mug in the sink.

Stiles almost chokes on his drink. “Cool.” He forces the word out through his teeth and focuses on keeping his heart rate steady. He registers Derek’s chuckle as the werewolf leaves the kitchen and he bites back an embarrassed groan.

“I’m just gonna go,” he says lamely, setting his cup down. “I’ll see you soon.”

By the time he gets back to his place, his dad has left for work and the house is quiet.

With the place to himself, Stiles takes his time getting changed, treating himself to an extra long shower. And if he jerks off imagining Derek’s hands against his skin, well, no one needs to know but him.

“Fuck.” Stiles lets his head drop, resting his forehead against the cool tiles. The water beats down against his shoulders, streaming down his chest and rinsing away the evidence of his desire. With a drawn out sigh, he reaches for the soap, rinsing well to mask any scents that might linger. He could use his magic, but the complaining from the pack almost isn’t worth it.

Once he’s clean and dressed, Stiles shoots Derek a message that he’s about to drive over to the motel and gets a single thumbs up in response. Shaking his head, he grabs his wallet and car keys and heads out to his Jeep.

It’s a twenty minute drive to the Beacon Hills Southside Motel. It’s a squat, single level building with two rows of rooms with a small function centre off to the side.

Stiles pulls up in the parking lot outside the function centre and waits for Derek to arrive. After a few minutes, he sends a text message to let Derek know he’s at the motel and climbs out of the car to survey the area.

They’ve hired out the room before. It’s been used to host other packs and discuss alliances, and when Stiles presses his hand to the rough wooden walls, he can feel the thrum of his magic in the echo of old wards.

The car park is empty, so Stiles lets his eyes close and sends his focus inwards to the magic that burns like a bright fire in his minds eye. He captures a spark and uses it to reignite the fading ward before moving around to the other side of the building.

By the time he’s rekindled the protective magic on the building and made his way back to the Jeep another thirty minutes have passed and Derek still hasn’t turned up. It’s been almost an hour since Stiles last heard from him, so he decides to give the werewolf a call.

He takes a seat in the Jeep, legs hanging out the open door, and pulls out his phone to call Derek.

_“This is Derek. Leave a message.”_

“Hey Der, I’m at the motel. Call me when you get this, okay?” Stiles disconnects the call with a sigh and texts Isaac.

 **_Stiles [10:02AM]:_ ** _Hey did Derek leave yet?_

 **_Scarf Boy [10:05AM]:_ ** _Uh… yeh he dropped me at work_

 **_Stiles [10:05AM]:_ ** _What time?_

He waits impatiently for Isaac’s reply.

 **_Scarf Boy [10:11AM]:_ ** _hr ago_

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious,” Stiles mumbles to himself.

He dials Derek’s number again, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while the call connects.

_“This is Derek. Leave a message.”_

“Where are you?” Stiles asks. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.” He flips his keyring around his finger. “I’m heading over to the loft. You better be there.”

He disconnects the call, tossing his phone onto the seat and jamming the key into the ignition.

Stiles drives across town, eyes drifting to his phone every time he’s forced to stop at traffic lights, in case Derek has texted, but there are no new notifications by the time he pulls up outside the loft.

“Derek?”

He slams the car door shut and walks up to the building, reaching for the magic that connects the pack.

There’s nothing that immediately stands out to him as unusual, so he lets himself into the building, and rides the lift up to the apartment.

“You in here?”

He reaches for the magic that connects the pack, checking the bonds that tie them all together. He imagines himself plucking the red string he associates with Derek’s Alpha-ness and jerks back in shock at the _pain_ that radiates up the connection.

At the same time his phone goes off.

What ever just happened, the whole pack felt it.

Stiles sends a group message telling everyone who is free to come to the loft, then he heads back down to his Jeep.

Climbing into the car, Stiles shoves the keys into the ignition.

If there was someone in town, someone here with the intent to harm, Stiles should have felt the wards on the boundary go off.

Unless…

Unless, whoever did it had help.

He skids to a stop outside Chris’s two-storey house and storms up to the front door, pounding on the wood until it creaks open.

“Where are they?” Stiles shoulders past Chris into the hall.

“Who?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The hunters. I know they’re in town. Where are they?”

“They’re not here yet,” Chris tells him. “I called them last night and they agreed to meet next weekend at the motel.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles tells him, moving further down the hall into the living room. “They’re in town, they’ve taken Derek, and I swear to god, if you had any idea—”

“Stiles.” Chris cuts him off. “I didn’t know.”

Stiles turns on his heel and plants his hands on his hips. “Do you know where they might be staying?”

“No,” Chris shakes his head and crosses the floor. “But Stiles, these guys follow the code.”

“Which one?” Stiles bites sarcastically. “Your code or your father’s?”

Chris scowls at the accusation. “Let me get into contact with them,” he suggests. “I can find out where they are, and, if they’ve got Derek—”

“I’m telling you they do—”

“ _If_ they’ve got him, I can find out where they’re keeping him.”

Stiles glances up sharply. “I’m not going to wait around while Derek is missing. Neither is our pack.”

“Stiles, once they know you’re looking—”

Waving his hand, Stiles interrupts Chris.

“Do they know what I can do?” He asks.

Chris shakes his head. “No.”

“Then they won’t see me coming.”

Stiles pushes back past Chris and storms out to his car. He climbs into the driver's seat and slams both hands on the steering wheel.

“Fuck.”

He drops his head against the worn and cracked leather, trying to focus on the texture while his heartrate races out of control. He can feel the panic building in his chest, but he can’t afford to let it overwhelm him.

He needs to find Derek. To do that he needs a level head. If he’d been thinking clearly at the loft, Stiles probably would have found him by now, instead he’d raced off to throw accusations at Chris.

His phone chirps in his pocket.

Stiles takes one long, slow breath, then another, then he pulls out his phone. 

**_Catwoman [11:03AM]:_ ** _We’re at the loft where are u?_

 **_Stiles: [11:04AM]:_ ** _on my way_

***

Scott, Erica and Boyd are waiting at the loft when Stiles returns.

“Dude, what happened?” Scott asks, ambushing Stiles before he can get out of the lift.

“The hunters are here,” Stiles tells them. He doesn’t care what Chris thinks. He’s learned in the last five years to trust his instincts, and his instincts are telling him that this is the work of the hunters. “They had no intention of playing nice, so neither will we.”

He heads for the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The spell he’s thinking of works best with an item that has been recently used, so he searches Derek’s laundry basket for the t-shirt he’d been wearing that morning.

The wolves are waiting for him when he comes back downstairs.

“So,” Erica asks. “What’s the plan?”

Stiles reaches for the bond again, testing out the connection to Derek. He’s ready this time and braces against the jolt of pain that rolls down the bond.

“We use Derek to find the hunters,” he says, holding up the shirt. “Then we show them why no one messes with Beacon Hills.”

He tosses his keys to Scott. He’ll need all his attention on maintaining the spell that will lead them to Derek.

They all cram into the Jeep and Stiles activates the spell. It’s not a perfect system. Stiles can tell Derek’s general direction and can feel that they’re getting closer, but they still need to navigate the streets of Beacon Hills.

Eventually it becomes obvious that they’re being led out of town.

“Where are they even keeping him?” Erica asks, leaning forward and hooking her arms over the back of the bench seat. “There’s nothing out here.”

“Actually, there are a couple of cabins down near the lake.” Boyd shrugs when Stiles and Erica turn to stare at him. “I spent a summer working odd jobs for one of the owners a few years ago.”

“Which way?” Stiles asks.

Boyd points out towards the left.

“That’s the right direction,” Stiles confirms. “Okay, how do we get there?”

***

“We should pull over here,” Boyd says, pointing to a gap between the trees. “Any closer and they’ll hear us coming.”

“Good idea.” Stiles checks the spell one last time. Derek is close. “We’ll go on foot and sneak up on them.”

Once the Jeep is parked, he shoves the t-shirt into his back pocket to free up his hands for the baseball bat he retrieves from the trunk. From there it’s a short walk through the trees.

Stiles laughs humourlessly when they reach the first line of mountain ash. “Amateurs.” He waves his hand and the line disperses allowing Scott, Erica, and Boyd to follow him through.

It takes about ten minutes to reach the edge of the tree line. They huddle, crouched out of sight and survey the small wooden cottage.

Stiles rakes a hand through his hair and takes a breath to centre himself. He can barely think above the sound of blood rushing in his ears. All he wants to do is rush in, grab Derek, and take out as many hunters as he can in the process, but they need some semblance of a plan if they’re all going to get out of here alive.

“How many hunters are inside?”

“There are five distinct heartbeats,” Boyd confirms, his head cocked to listen. “One is definitely Derek, he’s injured—” his nostrils flare as he takes in the scents “—wolfsbane.”

Fuck, Stiles was going to make them pay.

“You okay, man?” Scott asks, face twisting in concern. “Your eyes are doing that _thing._ ”

Stiles doesn’t need to see his reflection to know his eyes are glowing. He claws back at the magic burning through him until the glow fades and Scott’s shoulders relax.

“We’re going to get Derek back,” Scott promises, voice sincere.

“Damn straight we are.” Stiles says, straightening up. “Okay. We go in through the front door. Stay behind me. When the bullets run out, we split up, take a hunter each. Got it?”

The three wolves nod back at him and they stand, marching up to the cabin in single file with Stiles in the lead. While they walk, Stiles reaches for his magic.

 _I’m all alone, nothing else to see,_ he thinks, projecting the thought around himself and the others.

He uses the bat to knock out three sharp raps against the door.

“Housekeeping.”

He can hear the muffled scrape of something moving on the other side of the door. While he waits, Stiles feels out with his magic for anything that will keep the wolves from entering. There’s another line of mountain ash just inside the entrance. Too easy.

The door creaks open an inch. It’s enough. With both hands wrapped around the bat, Stiles raises it like a sword and unleashes his magic. The door blows open, hitting the wall with a solid _thunk_ and the mountain ash is scattered away.

The first bullet ricochets off the invisible barrier in front of them. Stiles keeps his hands clasped around the bat, picturing a shield protecting them from the gun fire.

With half his attention on stopping the bullets, Stiles uses the other half to search the room. He spots Derek over in the corner. The werewolf is slumped against the wall, eyes closed and skin deathly pale. If it wasn’t for fact Stiles can still feel the bond between them, he could almost be convinced the werewolf was dead.

That thought drops like a stone through Stiles’ stomach and a red haze settles over his vision.

“Now.” Stiles swings the bat, driving the blunt end into the stomach of the closest hunter.

With glowing eyes and shifted features, the werewolves behind him spring into action, diving around Stiles.

One hunter stumbles back in surprise, while the rest go for new weapons.

“What the fuck are you?” The hunter Stiles had hit straightens, one hand holding his stomach while the other reaches for the knife on his belt.

Stiles sneers, baring his teeth. “I am your worst fucking nightmare.” He swings the bat, putting all his power into the blow and the hunter goes down in a tangle of limbs.

There’s movement in the corner of his eye. One of the hunters breaks free of Erica, throwing her down onto the hardwood floor.

Stiles flings a hand out towards them.

“ _Stop._ ”

The hunter jerks to a standstill, his eyes bulging, veins popping in his face as he struggles against the magic’s hold.

“Erica, would you like to do the honours?”

“Love to.” Erica stands, brushing herself off, then punches the hunter in the face.

There’s only one hunter still standing. He struggles in Boyd’s hold but is no match for the wolf.

Scott glances up as Stiles marches over.

“Stiles—”

“Scott, can you go get the car?” Stiles asks, cutting his friend off. “Erica, check on Derek.”

He feels an overwhelming need to go to Derek himself, but until he knows they’re safe, and the last hunter has been dealt with, he’ll have to trust Erica will watch over him.

“You really think you can come into my town, take my Alpha and get away with it?” Stiles asks the hunter, his voice deadly low.

The hunter spits, twisting against Boyd’s iron grip. “You were the ones stupid enough to believe we’d want an alliance with you,” he sneers. “You’re all monsters.”

“Yup, we’re the monsters here,” Stiles says, swallowing down his rising anger. “We’re the ones who drive into peaceful towns and kidnap innocent people.” He waves the bat towards Derek in the far corner. “Now, are you going to make this easy and tell us which gun the wolfsbane came from, or are you going to make this difficult?”

“I’d rather die.”

Stiles shrugs. “That can be arranged. Boyd?”

The large werewolf knocks the hunter out and just like that, Stiles feels like his strings have been cut.

He spins on his heel and rushes over to Derek, couching on the floor beside the unconscious werewolf.

“Hey, open your eyes for me Der.” He squeezes Derek’s hand, shoulders sagging in relief when he feels the slight curl of Derek’s fingers around his own.

“Stiles.” Erica grabs his attention, pulling up Derek’s shirt to reveal the dark lines streaking out from the two oozing bullet wounds.

“Shit.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand harder. “Come on you big lug. Wake up.” He turns to Erica. “Collect as many bullets as you can find. We don’t know if they were all using the same wolfsbane.”

With his free hand Stiles reaches for his phone. He scrolls through the contact list and hits the dial icon, waiting for Chris to pick up.

“I’ve got a mess here for you to clean up,” he says, skipping all pleasantries. “I’ll text you the coordinates.” He disconnects the call, not leaving any room for Chris to argue with him and glances back down at Derek.

“Hey, there you are.” He smiles, catching Derek blinking back up at him. “Let’s get you home.”

***

Stiles paces while Derek sleeps.

After finding the right strain of wolfsbane, Derek had passed out after burning the toxin out of the bullet wounds. Stiles knows he just needs to sleep it off and heal but knowing this doesn’t actually make the waiting any easier.

Checking the time on his phone, Stiles can’t believe only a few hours have passed since he was last at the loft—it feels like it’s been days.

“Will you sit down?” Erica demands on his fifth or sixth lap of the loft. “You’re wearing _me_ out.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Stiles takes a seat on the edge of the couch, but he’s feeling too restless to sit still. Using his magic always seems to leave him feeling anxious and overstimulated. He jiggles his leg, tapping out a fast rhythm with his heel against the floor.

“Dude,” Erica growls.

“Leave him alone,” Lydia tells her. “You’d be climbing the walls too if Boyd had been kidnapped and shot with wolfsbane.”

Stiles tunes them out. Most of the pack have arrived and are lounging around in front of the TV debating what to get for dinner. He’s starving and he thinks someone mentioned getting pizza delivered.

“—moping about his boyfriend.”

“Huh?” Stiles’ head jerks up. “Whose boyfriend?” he asks, tuning back into the conversation happening beside him.

“Your boyfriend.” Erica rolls her eyes and grins at Lydia. “You see, this is the shit I’m talking about.”

Stiles laughs to cover his confusion. “And where is this mythical boyfriend?” he asks. “I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Erica’s eyes narrow. “Upstairs?”

“Wait, Derek?” This time the laugh that bursts out of Stiles is a little more sincere. “Derek’s not my boyfriend.”

“What the fuck Stilinski?” Erica demands, pointing a finger in Stiles’ face. “What did you do?”

“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“Are you honestly telling me that _you_ broke up with _Derek_?” Erica scoffs. “Yeah, like anyone would believe that.”

“Um, okay, rude,” Stiles tells her, “but Derek and I were never together.”

“Bullshit.”

Erica’s loud outburst draws everyone’s attention.

“But, you’re over here all the time. You sleep in his room,” Isaac points out. “In his bed.”

“Where else am I going to sleep?” Stiles asks, gesturing around the sparsely decorated room. “Derek’s allergic to buying furniture.”

“Oh, I dunno… at home. In your own bed?”

Stiles shrugs. “Derek doesn’t like me driving home too late,” he says. “And honestly, sometimes it’s easier to just crash here rather than risk waking Dad.”

“He doesn’t like you driving home late because he cares about you, dude,” Scott says from his spot beside Isaac.

“Plus, you stink when you’re around each other,” Isaac chimes in after his boyfriend. “Just like, stupid happy.” His nose wrinkles. “It’s disgusting.”

“No—” Stiles falters, looking around the room. “We’re not—” He stands, wringing his hands. “No.”

It’s not true. It can’t be.

There’s nowhere to go to escape the teasing, so Stiles retreats to the stairs. Derek’s room is quiet, and he knows no one will follow him up here while Derek’s sleeping.

He sits on the floor with his legs crossed and leans back against the wall. The others are wrong. Derek doesn’t like him like that. He’s _never_ liked Stiles like that.

Stiles startles when Derek shifts on the bed and rolls over.

“Hey.” Derek sits up slowly, his movements stiff and leans back against the headboard.

Stiles doesn’t move from his spot against the wall, but he uncrosses his legs, stretching them out along the floor. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Better.” Derek lifts his shirt to reveal the smooth unblemished skin underneath. “Much better.”

“Good,” Stiles says, ignoring the flush he can feel heating his cheeks. “Because if you ever scare me like that again, I will kill you.”

“Noted.” Derek’s tone is full of quiet amusement, but there’s concern in his expression as he looks across the room at Stiles. “What are you doing over there?”

“Hiding.” Stiles picks at the soft carpet. He doesn’t want to have this conversation right now, but he’d rather Derek hear it from him then from any of the others. “The pack thinks we’re dating.”

Derek blinks at him, brows drawn together in confusion. “Yeah? Was it… is it okay that they know?”

“Know what?” Stiles asks, arms flailing. “We’re not dating!” He pushes up onto his knees and shuffles to the end of the bed. “Are we?” He drops his face against the mattress, muffling his voice in the sheets. “Did I somehow miss some memo here because this—” he gestures between himself and Derek. “I would be totally up for that, but _dude_ —" Stiles lifts his head “—how could you not tell me we’re dating?”

“I—honestly, I thought you knew." There is no mistaking the amusement in Derek's tone now.

“But there was no kissing!” Stiles whines. “If I’d known, there would have been like... three hundred percent more kissing.”

Derek leans forward to grab at one of Stiles’ flailing hands.

“I thought you just wanted to take things slow.”

Stiles laughs. “Der, I have never taken anything slow in my life.” He lets Derek drag him up onto the bed. “Oh my god. How long have we been dating for?”

Derek doesn’t answer but his face says it all.

Tucking his face against Derek’s shoulder, Stiles groans. “I am never going to live this one down. When I die, my gravestone will read ‘could have been having all the sex but didn’t know they were dating’.”

“You can make up for lost time now,” Derek promises, pulling away from Stiles and moving to stand.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to go kick some people out of my house.”

From the living room there’s an echo of “but I live here!” and Stiles reaches for a pillow in the vain hope he can use it to smother himself to death.

“I fucking hate werewolves.”

The pillow is plucked from his face.

“Not all of them I hope.” Derek sits on the edge of the bed, lips twitching in silent laughter.

Stiles just can’t help himself. He reaches over to grab at Derek’s shirt and drag him down onto the bed. Their lips crash together with a hunger that draws a startled moan from Stiles and he shifts spreading his legs so that Derek can settle between them.

“No, not all of them,” Stiles agrees. “The one I’m dating is pretty great.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I got a request on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) for some BAMF Stiles and I thought I'd write a quick 2k scene and call it done but then this happened...
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment or a kudos if you did!


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